


Follow Me

by westandvigilant



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:19:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6649834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westandvigilant/pseuds/westandvigilant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>college professor Enjolras and a punk ass Eponine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow Me

**Author's Note:**

> lyrics from Iwan Rheon's Follow Me.

_set off tomorrow well i wish you well  
with your handful of wildflowers on the road to hell_

When they first cross paths, Enjolras is her teacher and Éponine is his student.

And, as a rule, she always hated teachers.

 

But, more specifically, she knows him as that grad student who has a stick up his ass so tight that it stakes him to the ground behind his podium. And that’s why no one ever sees him in town doing normal human things.

He knows her as that annoying hipster kid who is all potential and no drive. Who uses too many air-quotes or yells out abrasively defeatist answers during class without even raising her hand. And it stung all the worse for her ability to get at least half the class to agree with her.

Enjolras won’t admit it, but it makes his lectures better. And she won’t acknowledge it, but his scrutinizing glare makes her soak up the curriculum like a sponge.

He feels a little twinge in his throat as he turns her final grade in. Enjolras knows he pushed her hard, but it paid off for her in a stellar grade, however begrudgingly given. He tells himself that twinge is because he won’t have to deal with that Thénardier girl and her loud mouth and her boots that go up to her knees.

And she feels free of that fucking high on own his ass political sciences instructor - who is not even a real professor, got it? - and will tell anyone who listens about how fucking glad she is that she won’t have to deal with his idealistic theories and his lame windsor knot. And the way that he insists on always calling her ‘Ms. Thénardier’ like some robot.

_—_

_where all your fears are in your eyes  
all your foes are on your side_

Their paths brush yet again when she is the statue and he is all too human.

She recognizes him the second he and his friends take a table in her section and she is immediately angered by his presence. As if he hadn’t made her finals week last semester a living hell, now she’s going to have to smile at him and act like they’re chums so she can get a decent tip.

To his credit, however, the only thing he does is give a knowing nod when she breezes up, pen out and ready to get the orders over with as soon as possible.

Because the last thing he really wants to do is talk to her. The last thing he wants to do is deal with an uppity student when he has to listen to Pontmercy and Jehan drone on and on. He just wanted some fucking coffee and a sandwich.

“…certainly falling in love can happen at first sight-”

“Really,” Enjolras interrupts, loosening his tie. “Pontmercy? Again.”

Pontmercy sighs in return. “You can’t just tune into the conversation ten minutes later and expect to change the subject… anyway, as I was saying, the flip side of love is the fact that the one you love is also the one capable of making you the most angry in the world.”

Jehan is nodding his agreement as Éponine returns to the table with the drinks. She sets down Enjolras’ coffee just in time to hear the conversation’s subject matter, as well as witness his massively uncomfortable squirming. Laughter starts stirring in her throat at the sight of her lofty poly-sci instructor being subjected to his friends waxing poetic about love. She can’t help but smile at how deliciously annoyed he looks.

He catches her eye and she drops her smile just to spite him.

She turns away before he can finish saying “Thank you, Ms. Thénardier.”

_—_

_follow me i say hold my hand  
follow me to this righteous land_

He is the first to go.

Laying sweaty in twisted sheets he decides, with her ripped jeans and her lopsided smile and the irritating amount genius hidden behind her barriers, maybe he could have loved her.

_—_

_well i set off this morning with you, thank you sweet  
for the slither of alcohol to ground my fear_

The next time they meet, he is the leader and she is the follower.

Just because he traded in his blazer for a red hoodie didn’t mean he had any less of a stick up his ass. She takes a pull off her beer and scoffs. Éponine made peace with the fact that she will never return to one of these things, no matter how cute this Marius guy was.

But Enjolras cannot get his mind off the way she smiles into her glass whenever he speaks and how there is no way that the ratty beanie she’s wearing is comfortable in the blazing café. Or maybe he was the only one sweating.

Either way, everything comes to a grinding halt when he proclaims the importance of the upcoming marriage equality protest to her jeers.

“No, it’s a wonderful ideal, really,” she says, choking back her haughtiness with a condescending smile, “but don’t think for a second that marriage equality means completely equality. And what are you doing about the millions of homeless LGBTQ kids who are kicked out by their parents for simply being what they are? Are you forgetting about them just so we can further the archaic institution of 'marriage’? Think about it.”

She highlights the word 'marriage’ with a pair of animated air quotes that everyone watches with wide, anticipatory eyes.

He wants to grab her beautiful face and tell her that if she could just listen to him, just once, and she could change the world.

But instead he clears his throat and attempts to straighten a tie that he is not wearing before meeting her eyes and saying, quite softly: “Just because something is idealistic doesn’t mean that it isn’t worth fighting for, Ms. Thénardier.”

And with that the meeting adjourns and everyone files out and Éponine sits around to be angry at her former teacher. Or at least she tries.

_—_

_follow me now i understand  
follow me i want you to hold my hand_

She is the last to go.

Though the mist of tear gas and hail of rubber bullets she decides, as the police wrangle him into the squad car, that he has far too much fire in his blood for her to really hate him at all.

_—_

_cause there’s no point of writing fables of how we should be  
when the clouds give condensation and your hand to me_

The last time their paths collide is when he is the damsel in distress and she is the hero.

His heart skips a beat, but he’s not exactly happy when it is that damn girl who knows too much for her own good that shows up to post his bail. He’s tired and not exactly ready for a new argument. A new debate. A new fight.

Éponine tries not to notice the way his once white shirt is now a fresh crimson, painted with his own blood, but her lips curl as she remembers how pristine it had looked when she saw him being carried away.

“I would’ve always thought you’d take pleasure in leaving me here to make me think about the err of my utopian-”

“Well,” she begins under layers of sarcasm. Old habits die hard, and this whole 'being nice’ thing was new. “Everyone would be lost without you telling them whether they should stick the right or left boot up 'the man’s’ ass.”

He snatches her hands with his own as she begins to air-quote yet again.

“Air-quotes will never serve any other purpose than to annoy those with whom you speak,” she pulls away from his grasp as he continues, his voice raising. “You are so infuriating. You can’t just waltz through life sleepwalking.”

“And you can’t go through life thinking fancy speeches will get you want you want.”

“Oh, have I given you the impression that I don’t fight for what I believe in?”

Then small, sheepish: “I want you to believe in me.”

“Éponine,” he sighs heavy, rubbing his eye with bruised knuckles, searching for the right words. “I think I always have.”

_—_

_you know this morning tastes so sweet  
'cause the ground beneath my feet and the air i breathe_

Their paths don’t collide anymore, because they are both gone. Both lost in one another. They don’t usually use the word love, but it’s there. Written in the way he holds her and the way she stands on her tip-toes to kiss him.

It’s there.


End file.
